


Meridian

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Chì bì | Red Cliff (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he can change the course of energy through the meridians, he could change the course of history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meridian

Hua Tuo takes pride in his work. He derives a certain satisfaction from divining illness from an examination of symptoms or from reading the pulse. He shares the delight of the family when a patient recovers. Even when a treatment is unsuccessful, he is realistic enough, hardened enough, not to blame himself. Instead of failure he sees opportunity. He learns from everything, no matter how many times he’s done it before.

He takes a particular pleasure from the application of his acupuncture needles. He supposes all physicians must feel the same—the flickering sense of power, the knowledge that he can kill as easily as he can cure.

With the needles, he must always be accurate, always strike the right point, not too deep, not too shallow. The needles must be inserted for the correct length of time; the point must be stimulated, not aggravated or over-excited. For Hua Tuo, it’s second nature now. He wields the needles as easily as he breathes. They’ve become an extension of his body, of his fingers. He times their use by the beat of his own heart.

As the needles unlock the energy in a patient’s body, so too do they tap into Hua Tuo’s awareness. Of all the instruments at his disposal—knives, saws, clamps, sutures, herbs for moxibustion, pills and poultices—the needles are his preferred tools. He knows it’s fanciful, but he feels a connection when he inserts the needles into the flesh of his patients, a connection deeper than if his patient was cut open and his innards exposed. It’s as if the ailment creeps up the needle and makes itself known. He can read the energy of the meridians with greater ease than anything else, and this is sometimes dangerous knowledge.

Cao Cao is his most dangerous patient. Hua Tuo serves him from necessity rather than choice. He cannot deny the Prime Minister. It’s anathema for him to lie, but like all doctors, Hua Tuo learned how to dissemble. He cannot do that with Cao Cao. He tried once, and Cao Cao sent soldiers to Hua Tuo’s home to check if his wife really was ill.

Hua Tuo did not marry a fool. When she heard the clatter of armour and the stamp of feet, she drank down the oil she used for cooking. Her body voided itself, and she lay on a pallet shivering, her belly racked with painful spasms, and the soldiers reported to their master that the wife of Master Hua was very ill indeed.

Cao Cao’s suspicion turned to remorse. He sent gifts to speed her recovery. Hua Tuo knew he’d been lucky. Never again did he distort the truth with the Prime Minister. These days he speaks openly and with honesty, even going so far as to condemn the war. Cao Cao laughs at him for it.

“You are the only one of them who dares speak to me like that,” he says, and though he’s smiling and his eyes are amused, the tremor in the needles gives a different story. “The only one. My generals, my advisors—even when it’s obvious that they’re right and I’m wrong, they still couch their words in flattery.”

“Because with one word in reply, you could send them to their deaths,” Hua Tuo says.

“And you, physician? You do not fear death?”

Hua Tuo considers his answer. “No. You need me too much to kill me. Even if you dislike my plain way of speaking.”

Cao Cao stares at him. “Sometimes I think you are no doctor but a sorcerer.”

Hua Tuo is silent. There’s no harm in encouraging such a belief. He has heard that Zhuge Liang is considered a sorcerer, too, and he is nothing more than a farmer. A very clever farmer, to be sure, but still a man of the land. And if he can be a sorcerer, why not Hua Tuo? With the needles there are ways of manipulating a patient, of regulating their behaviour. It tends only to work with those who are susceptible to suggestion. He doesn’t know if it will work on Cao Cao.

When next the Prime Minister summons him, Hua Tuo brings his needles and nothing else. Cao Cao’s headaches are extreme and dictate almost every aspect of his life. One moment he can be jovial and benevolent; a heartbeat later he’s vicious and cruel. Overall his nature tends to an avoidance of self-reflection—a fault for any man, in Hua Tuo’s opinion, but fatal for a leader—and the denial of self-evident truths makes Cao Cao greedier and more lascivious, and desire leads to an excitement of the blood and disruption of _qi_ , which causes ever more severe and complicated headaches.

Hua Tuo has explained all this, has told him how to control the headaches by diet and abstinence and meditation, but Cao Cao is a Prime Minister engaged in a war, not a monk, and Hua Tuo’s advice is ignored.

Now he goes in to Cao Cao and finds him laid flat on his bed, one sleeve draped over his face to block out the light. The ship lists slightly as it travels up the river towards Red Cliff, and even this gentle motion, one Hua Tuo finds soothing, brings pain to Cao Cao.

He’s making a sound, high-pitched and feverish. The agony of his headache is so much that his arm is locked rigid over his forehead. Hua Tuo cannot persuade or even force him to move it. Treatment at the source of the problem is impossible. Denied access to the upper points of the Governing Vessel, Hua Tuo takes out his needles and inserts them into Cao Cao’s hands, treating the pressure points for eyes, neck, and brain. It is a temporary solution, but better than nothing.

It seems to relieve the immediate pain. Cao Cao groans, his rigid arm going limp. He moves just enough for Hua Tuo to work on the points around his skull. At length Cao Cao relaxes, the pain of the headache numbing him like an anaesthetic. He will sleep now, and awake refreshed.

Hua Tuo removes the needles with care. When the last one slides from the Prime Minister’s flesh, Hua Tuo holds it steady and wonders. He glances at the silk pouch containing the other needles, then looks back at the one in his hand. He wonders if he dares to try this, if he can be the sorcerer Cao Cao accused him of being. He wonders if he can alter the flow around Cao Cao’s meridians, bringing not just harmony to his patient but also, indirectly, to the country. If he can balance the humours in Cao Cao’s body and mind, surely the Prime Minister will make more rational decisions and the horrors and bloodshed of war can be averted.

It’s worth trying. Hua Tuo looks over his shoulder then shuffles down to the end of the bed. He takes off Cao Cao’s shoes, pushes up the heavy brocade and silk of his robes. Hua Tuo leans over, breathing in the rich, dark scent of the incense perfuming Cao Cao’s clothes. He holds the needle poised over a point in the Liver meridian. If this works, if he pins each point with care, stimulates just long enough, over-stimulates others, he should be able to calm the Prime Minister’s excess of yang. He should be able to override Cao Cao’s hunger for concubines and wine and other men’s wives.

If he fails...

Hua Tuo pushes the thought aside. He knows what he’s doing. He’s used these needles for years. He trusts them. He trusts himself. He won’t fail. The fate of the empire depends upon it.

He lifts the needle. Places it against the skin. Guides it in.


End file.
